


Tools of War

by centreoftheselights



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Aftermath, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Betrayal, Blood and Violence, Brainwashing, Brothers Roman & Remy, Captivity, Choices, Escape, Falling In Love, Fugitives, Grief, Hallucinations, Healing, Hope, Hopeful Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Knight Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Loss, Lovers to enemies to lovers, M/M, Mage Logic | Logan Sanders, Magic, Making Out, Manipulation, Mention of Bad Consent, Mind Control, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Personal Growth, Prince Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Prince Sleep | Remy Sanders, Prisoner of War, Psychological Trauma, Rebellion, Recovering from injury, Recovery, Swordfighting, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Torture, Tragic Romance, Trauma, Villain Character Death, Villain Logic | Logan Sanders, Villain Morality | Patton Sanders, Violence, War, mention of medical torture, mentions of torture, mild possessiveness, past unhealthy relationships, recovering from trauma, tragic backstory, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2020-02-11 00:28:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 18,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18671500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/centreoftheselights/pseuds/centreoftheselights
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a knight and a prince, and they hated each other.Once upon a time, there was a prince and a knight, and they were in love.Nothing's ever simple in love or war.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I've been posting on Discord for a while. With thanks to [Marinia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marinia), who helped come up with the initial idea, and [rosesisupposes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosesisupposes), who coined the title, as well as Hawthorn, Ella, and everyone else who's been cheerleading as I write this!
> 
> As the tags may suggest, this is going to go to some dark places, but it isn't unremitting sorrow, I promise! Please let me know if you want more specific warnings.

Once upon a time, there was a prince who fell in love with a knight.

He was a handsome prince, and a charming one, with a warrior's strength and a poet's heart. But he was not the eldest son, and so his father sent him to university across the sea, to study the tactics of great generals, and to meet the other sons of noble houses so he might forge alliances with nearby nations, and thus serve the kingdom.

And while he studied war, the prince also learned of love.

His beloved was not a fellow prince, or even a duke or earl, but the lowly son of a baron. But he was handsome and witty and he, too, was a great fighter. And so even as they bickered and duelled, the knight stole the prince's heart away, and by the time the prince's graduation drew near, they planned to ask the king for permission to wed.

Until tragedy struck.

The prince received urgent word that his father had died, and hurried home as soon as he was able. The knight would follow shortly afterwards, once he had made suitable arrangements, and join the prince in time for his elder brother's coronation.

The prince did not know, until he arrived back to his homeland, that his father's murder had been at the hands of some of his most trusted advisors. Advisors whom he had described to his love, told to trust, to expect to greet him upon his arrival.

By the time the prince realised that his knight had not arrived when he was expected, it was already far too late.

The prince mourned the loss of his love, made all the more painful for not knowing his love's fate – for he had no idea if his knight had been killed, or if he was captured even now, suffering for his love at the rebels' hands. Each day felt like a living death, his heart torn from his breast, knowing that whatever his love suffered, it was the prince's fault alone.

But the kingdom was in turmoil, civil war tearing through the land, and the prince was the greatest general the crown had to offer. With no idea where his love might be, the prince threw himself into the service of his kingdom and crown. He became his king's right hand, and for years, he fought a bloody and brutal war against his father's killers.

It may seem obvious to you, hearing this story, that the Black Knight – one of the most feared of the rebel warriors, an assassin who struck by night and moved like lightning on the battlefield – could be no other than the knight our prince thought lost. But there are many knights in a kingdom, particularly in a war, and the prince had no thought that his love might still be alive, let alone that he might be the foe the prince faced in battle.

But when he caught wind of a rumour – of the Black Knight's strange colouring, dark eyes and hair the colour of violets – his heart stuttered to life once more, feelings he had long thought dead reigniting in his breast.

The prince abandoned his duties, and hurried to where the knight had last been seen.

To where the knight was waiting for him.

The prince realised, too late, that this was the bait in a trap set for him and him alone. His duel with the Black Knight was fierce, and close-matched, but in the end the prince knew it was hopeless. He had seen the knight's face, and known it as _his_ knight, even as his once-love's eyes burned with rage at the sight of him.

The prince threw down his sword, glad to be able to at least look upon his love for one last time, before he closed his eyes –

 

Roman opens his eyes, and Virgil is staring at him, frozen still as a statue, his bangs blowing softly in the wind.

“R – Ro?”

The tenderness in his voice sounds rusty from disuse, but for a moment, Roman's Emo Knight is back with him.

“I…” Virgil looks down at the knife in his hand. “Why can't I kill you?”

His voice breaks.

“Why won't you fight back?”

“Once upon a time,” Roman says gently, a tale from a thousand years ago, when he had never seen hatred in Virgil's eyes. “Once, there was a prince, and a knight.”

“They were enemies,” Virgil says, but he hesitates for a moment.

“Not in my version,” Roman says. “In my version, they were in lo–”

And that's when Virgil falls to his knees.

They sit there together, for a long long time, both too exhausted to move. The world seems to have forgotten this place, this time. The war is still raging out there somewhere without them, and neither of them much cares any more.

“Come with me,” Roman says. “I can… you can stay with me. If you want.”

“I…” Virgil shakes his head. “I guess I'm not very good at being good. Killing you was my only job, and when the time came –”

Roman doesn't say _you are the best thing_ _I_ _have ever known_ , because Virgil isn't ready to hear it. He stays silent, and breathes heavily, and aches with hope.

“What the hell,” Virgil says anyway. “Let's be evil. Go on. Corrupt me.”

Roman wants to cry. Whether it's from happiness or sorrow, he can't quite say.


	2. Chapter 2

Roman leads Virgil to a safe house and digs out medical supplies, and begins patching up their wounds from the fight. It's nothing he hasn't done for himself a thousand times before, but Virgil…

Roman can't seem to stop himself from staring. His love is right here in front of him, back from the dead, like a miracle!

But there isn't a trace of recognition in his eyes. Virgil stares back at him from across the room like a cornered animal. Roman lets him tend his own wounds, fearing that Virgil is going to injure himself from how violently he flinches whenever Roman draws close.

Roman doesn't understand.

“Are they going to come looking for us?” Virgil asks.

Roman starts – he's barely spoken a word since their fight ended.

“This place hasn't been used in months. No-one will know we're here.”

It's only halfway an answer. Because _of course_ people will be looking for them. Roman was a general, and he just slipped away from camp without word to anyone, tearing off after his lost love, and Virgil –

The Black Knight will be missed as well.

“I can't go back after this,” Virgil says. “I'm stuck on your side now, whether you like it or not.”

“Don't be so down!” Roman jokes. “All you have to do is kill me, and they'll welcome you back with open arms.”

There's a long, long silence before Virgil says, somewhat uncertainly: “… I can't do that.”

Oh.

“Well. Let's start from there, then.”

Roman bustles around the place – lighting a fire, pulling dustsheets off the furniture, finding some old dried rations to cook up. Anything to avoid the gaping chasm of silence between the two of them that he has no idea how to deal with.

When the food is ready, he motions Virgil over to come sit with him. Watches his love steel himself in order to meet Roman's eye, a quick flash of forced smile that seems a thousand miles away from the easy grins they shared a lifetime ago.

“What do you… remember?” Roman asks, slowly.

“It's hazy,” Virgil admits, and Roman winces. “It's been that way for years, a lot of my memories just aren't there any more. I remember you, though.”

Roman almost sighs with relief. But then Virgil speaks words that feel like a dagger through his heart.

“I remember you hurting me. Not the specifics, just… your face, and the pain…”

Roman bites his lip, but there's no hiding his reaction. He's shaking, a tear rolling silently down his face –

“It's okay,” Virgil says, quickly. “You regret it, obviously. I know that if you wanted to hurt me again, you would have already.”

“No!”

Virgil shrinks back at Roman's shout, and he forces himself to breathe deep, to try and stay calm, for his love's sake if nothing else.

“No, I – that wasn't me,” Roman says quickly. “I would never want to hurt you, I promise.”

“From what I remember, it seemed pretty intentional,” Virgil snarks, and for a second he's his old self again. Then he bites his lip, eyes widening fearfully. “I mean – it's fine, love makes people do things they don't mean, right?”

“Not that,” Roman says fervently. “ _Never_ that. It wasn't me. Not because I was angry, or – or jealous or something, but I mean – _that never happened_. The memories must have been faked, or someone impersonated me… love, I'm so, so sorry that happened to you, I should have protected you better –”

It makes a horrible, twisted kind of sense, now he knows what happened. Take the prince's love, and turn him into something fearful and angry. Turn him into a poisoned dagger, a bait that they knew Roman wouldn't be able to resist.

Roman is furious. It's easier to be furious. Because if he stops and thinks about Virgil, afraid, in the dark, thinking that Roman is the one hurting him – for weeks, or months, or _years_ –

“What about before?” Roman asks, desperately. “Before the pain, do you remember –?”

There were _years_ , the best days of Roman's _life_ –

“Nothing. There's never been anything.” Virgil shrugs. “They told me that… they saved me from you. That you'd done something to me, to make me forget.”

Virgil swallows. Roman can see him arguing with himself, building himself up to say something, and so he stays quiet and lets his love speak.

“What… what do you remember?”

Roman takes a slow, shaky breath.

“You want it from the beginning?” he asks.

Virgil nods.

“We first met nine years ago, on a sunny autumn day. By the time of my eighteenth birthday that spring, I had fallen in love with you, although I hadn't admitted it even to myself…”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm going to aim for a Monday-Wednesday-Friday posting schedule for the next few weeks, since this fic is already mostly-written and I'm just editing as I go. Bear with me if I miss a few days though, life is hectic.

Over the next week, Roman thinks a lot about memory.

There are a lot of types of magic in the world – some learned, some inborn, some reversible, some terrifyingly permanent. Creating false memories like the ones Virgil has… there are a lot of ways to go about that. All of them unpleasant in their own unique way.

Some clues become clear. Two days after their arrival at the cabin, Virgil's shirt pulls up at the back and Roman sees… scars. A lot of scars, and not the kind you get from battle.

 _Someone_ hurt Virgil, badly. And it takes all of Roman's willpower not to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness, for some kind of penance to earn the absolution he craves for ever letting his love suffer those wounds in his name.

But he bites his tongue, and swallows down the words, not wanting to hurt Virgil with his guilt any more than he already did with his absence.

Roman has been biting his tongue a lot, lately.

First: Roman doesn't ask about Virgil's past. That's his story, to tell when he feels ready. He picks up bits and pieces, of course – Virgil believes that the rebels rescued him from some unknown torturer, nursed him back to health, gave him training and a purpose, a way to find meaning again after he'd lost everything.

Roman doesn't say a word.

He listens, though. It hasn't escaped his notice that when Virgil talks about his comrades, he never suggests that they might be missing him, that anyone will be worried about his absence.

“I hope they think you killed me,” Virgil says instead. “They'd be so pissed if they found out I was still alive.”

From the sounds of it, Virgil's commander was the only friend he had in the whole camp, and Virgil suspects even he will be furious at Virgil's desertion, his failure in his mission.

But then again, can Roman say any better about the men he served with? He betrayed all of them, turned his back on his country for the sake of a man who has killed dozens of his soldiers in the past.

Perhaps Virgil is right to assume that neither of them would be easily forgiven for this.

Second: Roman doesn't talk about _their_ past. He sketched out their story for Virgil, on that first night, but he will say no more until Virgil asks. He doesn't want to overwhelm Virgil, or worse still, try to force him into anything. Roman's presence here might be due to the love he feels for his knight, but it is not contingent on that love's requitement.

Even if Virgil never loves him again, Roman will still protect him with his life.

So he bites back pet names, terms of endearment that spring effortlessly to his lips. He hides the hurt he feels when Virgil flinches away from his touch, or turns to watch him warily as he passes. For his love, he will accept these things, and learn to keep his distance.

But it's harder to hide the other parts. The dizzying, glorious moments of hope, when for a second recognition seems to flicker in Virgil's gaze. When he greets one of Roman's jokes with a smirk and a fond eye-roll, or listens to him singing with a grimace that softens when he thinks Roman isn't looking. Most thrillingly of all, one evening Virgil comes in from chopping wood and almost collapses grumpily into Roman's lap without thinking, just as he might have seven years ago. He catches himself at the last minute, and hastily sits on the other chair instead, and both of them pretend not to have noticed even while their faces burn scarlet.

Every time Virgil calls him “Ro” or “Princey,” Roman aches with the possibility of it. Virgil doesn't even seem to realise he's doing it, but… no magic is perfect. What Virgil's mind cannot remember, somehow still lingers in his words and his actions, and that… that is almost more hope than Roman can bear.

Every moment they spend together is another moment Roman feels he will burst from the force of hiding how much he _wants_.

But, to Roman's surprise, it is the third topic he has been avoiding that is the first to finally be breached, when they're sharing dinner one evening and Virgil asks:

“Who did this to me?”

“Come on, the stew isn't _that_ bad!”

Virgil raises an eyebrow, and Roman's heart flutters in his chest.

“I'm being serious, Princey. I know you said you didn't know who kidnapped me…”

“I don't.” A truth without truth. Roman never _knew_ , not for certain, but –

“But you have a suspect, right?” Virgil meets Roman's gaze, and whatever he sees there seems to confirm it for him. “I figured you must have. So, who was it?”

“Someone who wanted to get to me through you,” Roman answers. _Avoiding the name, avoiding the things Virgil doesn't want to hear, afraid every moment that he might push too fast and panic him_ – “It was my fault. I never wanted you to get hurt, but I didn't protect you enough and it happened anyway. You can blame me if you want.” Roman certainly does.

“That wasn't what I asked.” Virgil's eyes turn dark. “Why don't you want to say?”

“Once I tell you, I can't take it back.”

“Don't I have a right to know?”

“Please…”

“Who. Was it?” Virgil's voice drops into a low growl, but Roman knows him well enough to see that there's fear there as well as anger.

“… Do I really need to say it? I think you've already guessed.”

Virgil jumps to his feet, pacing back and forth. For a second, Roman wonders if he's going to punch something. If he's going to punch Roman.

“I need you to say it,” Virgil says instead. “I need to know for sure.”

Roman sighs. He had hoped to avoid this moment but… Virgil is right. He deserves to know the truth.

“It was Morality,” Roman admits. “Patton.”

Virgil's former commander. The one he calls his best friend.

His torturer.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Roman wakes up that night to the sound of a thudding outside.

Virgil's room is empty, and for a moment, his heart freezes. Did his love leave? Or… was he taken again, against his will, did he yet again slip out from between Roman's fingers –

Then he hears the thudding again. A rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk against the wall of the house.

He goes outside, and Virgil is throwing knives.

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

A set of five black daggers, into the side of the house. Then Virgil walks over to retrieve them, tucking them in between his fingers with practised ease, and walks back to throw again.

“I've been thinking,” he says, not turning to look at Roman. “About what you said.”

 _Thunk_.

“Pat was my friend.”

 _Thunk_.

“He saved my life.”

 _Thunk_.

“But.”

 _Thunk. Thunk_.

“The story he told me doesn't add up.”

He retrieves the knives. Sets up his stance again. He's a line of pure power, focussed and thrumming with energy, like a bowstring drawn tight.

“And then there's you.”

 _Thunk_.

“You're my enemy.”

 _Thunk_.

“I remember you hurting me.”

 _Thunk_.

“But you don't act like the memories do.”

 _Thunk_.

“And sometimes…”

 _Thunk_.

“I can almost remember…”

Virgil sighs.

“Your story doesn't make sense either. But… it might make more sense. I guess every villain is the hero of their own story, right?”

He pulls his knives from the wall, not looking back at Roman.

“Did you never wonder,” Roman asks softly, “what reasons I had to fight? Why I hated the rebellion so much?”

“It didn't seem important.” Virgil's eyes glint in the moonlight for a second as he turns. “At the time, the story still made sense.”

“And now?”

“Nothing makes sense.”

 _Thunk_.

“Not from either side.”

 _Thunk_.

“You're not a monster.”

 _Thunk_.

“But neither are they.”

 _Thunk_.

“And I -”

 _Thunk_.

Virgil's voice chokes off suddenly as his last knife hits the wall. He stalks forward to collect the blades again, and Roman moves in front of him.

In a second, Virgil has him pinned to the side of the house, a knife up against his throat. The sixth of the set, which he must have kept hidden on him, even out here, with no-one around in the middle of the night.

Roman holds up his hands.

“You're not a monster either, Virgil,” he says. “That's all I wanted to say.”

Virgil raises his eyebrows.

“And look where it got you.”

Virgil regards Roman for a slow second. He moves his knife closer to Roman's throat, and Roman doesn't resist.

“You still won't fight back,” Virgil says softly. “I don't – why not?”

“I know you don't remember,” Roman answers, “but I told you I'd die for you, love. And I meant it.”

Virgil flinches away. Roman's skin aches at the loss of his touch, even in so dire a circumstance.

“If I don't remember, then I'm not really him, am I?”

Perhaps it's all wishful thinking, but Roman thinks it sounds more like a question than it would have a week ago.

“I'm not who I was six years ago either,” Roman says. “I'm not asking that of you.”

“Are you sure?” Virgil snaps. “Cause I've been wracking my brains trying to figure out why the fuck you brought me here, and I –”

Their faces are very close together, and Virgil is shouting, and suddenly he glances at Roman's lips and falls silent, breathing heavily.

”… You can kiss me if you want to,” Roman says softly. “I won't – You never have to. But if you want to – if you think it's a good idea –”

“This is a _very_ bad idea.”

Virgil glances down at his hand. He's still holding the knife.

“I trust you,” Roman says.

“That's a bad idea too.”

Roman smirks. “I'm good at those.”

“Oh, shut up!”

And that's when Virgil kisses him.

It's soft, hesitant at first, but then Virgil presses forward with urgency, and Roman takes that as permission to react, just a little. He rests a hand on Virgil's waist, another against the back of his neck, even as Virgil is grabbing at his hair with more force than is strictly necessary. It's harsh, a little messy, rougher than any reunion Roman ever imagined for them – but it's real, and oh gods above, that is worth more than anything in this world.

Roman shuts his eyes as Virgil starts to pull away. Takes a second, before he opens them, and sees that lack of recognition. Lets himself hope, for a moment, that true love's kiss will magically save the day.

Then he opens his eyes, and Virgil is watching him with a look that borders on… awestruck?

“What?” he asks, teasingly – because if he keeps this light, he keeps his own heart from breaking. “Do I have something on my face?”

“That was…” Virgil folds his arms. “You rubbed the back of my neck. With your thumb.”

“Yes…?” Roman says, hesitantly. “You… used to like that.”

“I still do.” Virgil says. “But I don't – I never told anybody –”

“Oh.”

“You really do love me, don't you?”

“What was your first clue?” Roman asks. Hiding his excitement, his hope, his fear –

Virgil frowns. “And if I told you I was going to lead you back to camp in chains, you'd let me.”

“I'd…” Roman hesitates. “I'd rather we didn't test that theory.”

“That's fucked up.” Virgil sounds almost impressed.

“Kettle, meet pot.”

“Yeah, well.” Virgil shrugs. “It's good to know I'm not the only broken soldier here.”


	5. Chapter 5

For the next couple of days, things feel… different between them. They don't kiss again – Virgil doesn't ask, and Roman doesn't offer. But Virgil isn't shying away from touch any more. In fact, he seems to be reaching out, moving closer, as though he's testing the waters between them, seeing what might be lurking there hidden from view.

 

Then, three nights later, they're eating dinner together when Virgil's eyes snap open wide.

“You need to run.”

Roman bolts for the back exit, but it's too late. The door is already sealed, the deep indigo pulse of magic resisting all his efforts to break through. But at least, thanks to Virgil's warning, they have time to grab their weapons before the front door is blasted open.

From out of the cloud of dust, comes a long-suffering sigh.

“Honestly, Virgil,” a voice says. “Playing… house? With the Prince of Pain?”

The man's voice twists with disgust as he adjusts his dark-framed glasses.

 _Logic_. The strategist, the information master, the mage. Morality's second-in-command. And a man Roman once thought of as his friend.

“Surely you, more than anyone, know why the royals –” Logic shoots Roman a filthy look – “cannot be trusted. You know _first_ - _hand_ how evil they are. And yet still, you have failed in your mission.”

“Logan –” Roman says, before his mouth snaps shut, sealed tight with shimmering indigo. Logan's eyes burn bright with rage for a moment, but he turns back to Virgil before speaking.

“And now I'm wasting my time cleaning up after your mess. _Again_.”

“Let him go!”

Virgil steps forward, shielding Roman with his body, and Logan rolls his eyes.

“Really?” he asks. “Could you not, just once, do things the sensible way?”

“Sorry, but I'm not feeling particularly sensible,” Virgil says, throwing himself at the man.

And that's all Roman remembers before the wave of indigo magic breaks over him, knocking him out.

 

When Roman comes to, he is bound in chains, in the dark.

He is alone.

Roman calls out, but no-one answers. He wasn't expecting anyone to, of course, not unless –

But there are all sorts of reasons Virgil might not answer. Aren't there?

He's in a building. Not a wagon or tied to a horse. He must be in the enemy camp. Virgil is known here, he knows how to play along. Knows how to survive.

 _If he's still_ –

No. Roman fights down the wave of nausea. He can't – not again, he isn't going to let himself disappear into visions of what might be. Virgil is _safe_. Because he has to be. Because Roman _needs_ him to be.

 

It's hours before Roman is dragged out of his cell. They don't tell him where he's going, of course, but it isn't much of a surprise when he's forced to his knees before the leader of the rebellion.

 _Morality_. The man who took Virgil away, and twisted him against Roman, who somehow made him forget. The man who murdered Roman's father in cold blood.

Roman spits at him. It's petty, but it's all he can do.

“Now now, kiddo!” Morality chides, punctuating his words with a kick to Roman's stomach. “That wasn't very polite!”

Roman is about to spit again, but Morality grabs his face, holding his jaw shut.

“I'm going to need you to listen to me. I am not very pleased with you, Mister! You've broken my favourite toy!”

Roman snarls at him, and Morality lets him go suddenly. Roman pitches forward, almost hitting the floor face-first, before righting himself again.

“He is _not_ your _toy_.”

Morality giggles.

“Oh, come now, don't be jealous! Just cause he used to be all yours to play with, and now he's mine. Well, mine, and Lo's, and –”

“Shut your venomous mouth, you –”

Patton kicks Roman in the ribs again, and he falls forward gasping.

“But the point is, I spent so much time teaching Virgil how to play nice, making sure he knew what was _right_ – and then you went and broke the rules of the game. Refusing to fight! You really stumped me there, kiddo, I have to hand it to you…”

“He still has a sense of mercy. Unlike _some_ people.”

Patton smiles, viciously.

“Oh, you think this isn't me being merciful?”

“I don't care what you do to me,” Roman snarls. “I'm not scared of you. I'm _not_ going to betray my people, and I'm _not_ going to hurt him.”

Patton crouches down, looking Roman directly in the eye.

“Oh, kiddo,” he says, and Roman's vision starts to blur at the edges.

“That's where you're wrong…”


	6. Chapter 6

When Roman wakes, he's a little dizzy. Morality must have slipped him something, made him pass out. Someone's shaking him. Someone –

 _Virgil_.

“Come on, Ro, wake up, please,” Virgil mutters, his voice low but frantic. “We have to move, we have to –”

Roman starts back into alertness as best he can.

“Please, before they –”

“Really, kiddos?”

Roman's blood runs cold at the sound of Morality's voice.

“You thought you could get away that easily?”

Roman struggles to his feet, fighting to regain control of his limbs.

“Roman, I'll hold him off, you run –”

 _Like hell he will_! There's a rack of swords against the far wall, and Roman makes a bolt for them.

By the time he turns back, Virgil is on his knees in front of Morality, doubled over and whimpering in pain.

Morality takes a step towards him.

“Get back, you monster!”

Roman sprints forward, swinging his borrowed sword at Morality with all his might.

Morality parries, more clumsily than Roman was expecting. Something flickers at the edge of Roman's vision for a moment, and another wave of dizziness sweeps over him, but he fights it off to stay standing.

“Afraid to look me in the eye?” Morality asks.

“Don't listen to him,” Virgil begs from the floor. “He can hypnotise you – make you see things –”

“I'd rather have a staring contest with a basilisk,” Roman snaps, keeping his gaze away from his opponent's face.

“ _Please_.”

Virgil's voice catches Roman by surprise, and he turns to glance at his love. A dreadful mistake, in the heat of battle. He leaves an opening, an unguarded moment that Morality could take advantage of –

And he doesn't.

It doesn't make sense. By all accounts, Morality is a fearsome swordfighter, and Roman just made a rookie's mistake. He hesitates, slowing the pace of his assault, and Morality does not take the opportunity to attack. He hasn't even swung his sword at Roman _once_.

Roman doesn't understand –

“Please, Roman.”

Roman hesitates, and lowers his sword.

“Roman, what are you doing?” Virgil calls from the floor. “Keep fighting!”

Roman looks Morality in the eye.

“You aren't really him, are you? You're…”

The illusion melts away, and there is Virgil. He's covered in bruises, a fresh cut bleeding across his shoulder and another above his eye.

 

And that's when the cavalry arrives.

 

A unit of royal soldiers rush in, among them a very familiar face, and oh, Roman could _kiss_ him right about now.

“Dee!” Roman calls out.

“Your highness.” Dee rolls his eyes. “It's not like I was looking for you or anything.”

“Please tell me you're getting us out of here.”

Dee hesitates, looking from him, to Virgil. They're both armed and both injured, and no-one else is in the room.

“…both of you?”

“Dee, this is –”

“The Black Knight,” Dee says flatly. “Roman. He isn't on our side. I've fought him before.”

“No, listen –”

“Morality has been influencing you, it might not all wear off at once –”

“Don't be ridiculous, _you're_ here.” Dee had the ability to cancel any magic around him, he was born with it. “I'm thinking clearly, and I'm not leaving without him.”

“Roman,” Virgil says in a low voice. “Just go.”

“Virgil –” Roman looks him over again. Some of the bruises on his face must be days old. “I'm not leaving you here with them.”

“It's fine. I'll be fine. They don't want me dead. You…” Virgil half-smiles. “You go and be safe. Then I'll be fine, okay?”

Roman turns back to Dee.

“If you don't take us both together, I am staying here with him.”

“Roman, _no_ –”

Dee rolls his eyes. “Okay, enough arguing. Black Knight, how do you feel about being taken prisoner?”

“Definitely against,” Virgil says, eyes wide. “But, if that's what it takes to get out of here – sure. Lock me up.”

Dee grabs a manacle out of his pack. He fixes one end onto Virgil's wrist, but before he can do the other cuff, Roman grabs it, and forces it onto his own arm instead.

“Wherever he goes, I'm going with him.”

Dee rolls his eyes.

“Great,” he says, sarcasm heavy in his voice. “Let's just go, shall we?”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with (approximate) chapter count! In case you thought things were nearly over... we're just beginning.

They make it out, through the path cleared by Dee's troops. _Roman's_ troops.

The raid was on a town, in the middle of contested territory. Dee's unit successfully rout the rebel garrison, although Morality and Logic have long since escaped. Dee leads Roman back to the unit's camp nearby.

There are more than a few murmurs when the soldiers see the prince being rescued in chains.

“This is what he's into now,” Roman hears Dee “whispering” to one of his lieutenants. “Just go with it.”

Roman snorts and rolls his eyes. Dee was hired onto the royal army as a mercenary, not long after the war started, but in the time since he's proven himself skilled, cunning and ruthless, an asset to the crown. He's also a good friend, with a wry smile and razor-sharp wit, and he's been Roman's second-in-command and closest companion for the last two years.

Which makes him the General now. Unless Roman is asked to return to the position, which… seems unlikely.

Roman can stand that. Dee's been a good Captain, he's loyal, and he has a fair grasp of tactics. It's just that working under him is going to be an adjustment.

… Assuming he's still a soldier at all, once all this is through.

 

Virgil should, by rights, be in a cell. But given that Roman is glaring daggers at anyone who even looks at him sideways, Dee decides to give up on that idea and instead get the both of them somewhere out of the way.

He shoves them into a tent – removes the manacles, tosses them a med kit, and orders them to _stay the fuck inside_. Then he leaves them alone, in order to sort out… whatever that was.

They sit in silence for a few moments. Then, all of a sudden, Roman slumps.

“I'm sorry,” he says, in a voice that sounds utterly defeated. “I'm so, so sorry.”

Virgil tilts his head.

“Uh, not that I object, but what are you apologising for?”

“I dragged you here without asking. I didn't want you to be a prisoner, but I – I couldn't leave you there, not again. I'm sorry, I was selfish –”

Virgil laughs. “I really don't mind being here, Roman. It's a lot better than being there.”

Roman looks down at the med kit in his lap. Then he looks up again, and his voice is so so small as he says: “I hurt you. I… I never wanted to –”

“Hey, shut up, I know,” Virgil says. “Here, give that –”

“Please?” Roman asks, and Virgil stops trying to take it from him. He sits still, and lets Roman wash out his cuts and put salve on his bruises, touching him with eggshell gentleness.

“Morality makes you see things,” Virgil says. “I… I half-knew, I think. But when we were fighting… you were protecting someone who wasn't there.”

“You,” Roman says.

“I know.” Virgil says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “But, you want to know what I was seeing?”

Roman holds his breath.

“Not a gods-damned thing that wasn't there,” Virgil says. “It was a test. Morality told me to go in there and kill you, because if I didn't, then I might as well die at your hand.”

“But.” Roman frowns. “You weren't fighting back.”

“You noticed that, huh?”

Roman bites his lip. “When Dee showed up, you told me to go without you. You said you'd be fine, if you stayed…”

“I would have said anything to get you to leave, Roman.” He shrugs. “It took me so long to even start to think of it, but Morality knew the _second_ I got dragged back into camp. I wasn't scared of him hurting me any more. I was _much_ more afraid of what he might do to you.”

“Oh.” Roman says, softly. Because what is there to say to that? His heartbeat is fluttering like a moth against a lamp, but he can't – he shouldn't –

“I'm not going to let them hurt you,” he says quickly, leaping to his feet. “I don't care what it takes – I'll chain myself to you again if I have to, although not without your permission this time of course, or I'll –”

“Princey.”

“They can't, if you're switching sides, if you give them information or something –”

“Roman! Will you sit the hell down?” Virgil pats the spot beside them on the cot, and Roman sits, still jittering with nerves.

Then Virgil cups his face with one hand, and Roman stops breathing.

“There's a lot… I can't pretend like we're both okay, okay? We aren't, this is a mess and we're both… there's a lot of shit there we have to deal with. But I'm trying to tell you that… I trust you. And I want… I don't want to be alone right now, okay?”

“You're not.” Roman says softly. “I'm here.”

Virgil lets out a sigh, and visibly relaxes, letting go of a tension so innate that Roman had never even noticed it was always there.

“Okay, then.”

“Okay.”

Virgil tugs Roman to join him, lying on the cot, pressed together, face to face. Their foreheads are resting against each other, and Roman can hear every breath Virgil takes.

It's… everything he's wanted. For so, so long. He didn't know how much he needed this.

“Oh,” Virgil says, in a soft, almost awed voice. “I – I needed this.”

“Yeah,” Roman says.

And neither of them says “I need you”, but both of them hear it anyway.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Virgil starts awake.

Roman is jolted into alertness about three seconds later, when Virgil scrambles backwards, kicking him in his panic to get away.

Virgil falls off the cot, landing on the floor.

Roman's hands are up before he even remembers where he is.

“It's okay, you're okay, love. I won't hurt you, it's okay…”

Virgil blinks at him a couple of times, running a hand through his hair. He's sweating.

“Sorry.” He gets to his feet. “It's fine, just a – just a bad dream.”

Roman wants to hug him, but Virgil is tense as a wound spring, and Roman knows that he doesn't want to be touched right now.

Least of all by Roman.

“Are you okay?” Roman asks.

“I'm gonna… I just wanna get some air.” Virgil says.

”… Come back safe,” Roman says, slowly.

“Always,” Virgil promises.

Roman drifts back into sleep uneasily, and dreams of lonely darkness, and figures who turn into smoke and blow away.

 

The next thing he knows, someone is shaking him awake.

“Roman,” Virgil hisses. “Wake up, get your stuff, we've gotta go.”

“Virgil, what –?”

“Come on, hurry.” Virgil throws his jacket at him. “I was… walking around camp. I overheard some people talking. In the captain's tent.” He sees Roman's expression. “I am a trained assassin. What did you expect?”

“So what has you so rattled?”

“Someone high up is coming to the camp for a court-martial. We need to get out of here.”

Someone high up? Roman's heart twinges with hope.

“Virgil, it'll be okay. We can show them you're on our side now, you can give them information, whatever it takes, I won't let them execute you –”

Virgil rolls his eyes.

“Clear out your ears, Princey. I said a _court-martial_. Those are for soldiers on your _own_ side, remember?” He bites his lip. “It isn't me I'm worried about.”

“Then what…?”

“They're coming to try you as a deserter.”

Roman's stomach feels like it's turned to lead.

“You… you must have misunderstood…”

“I heard your name,” Virgil says, looking sympathetic for a moment. Then he snaps back into action mode. “Come on, we need to be gone before they come for you. I stole us some supplies…”

Roman realises with a start that Virgil is already dressed and holding a pack. He's ready to go.

He could have just gone. Without waking Roman up. But…

He didn't.

“I'm sorry,” Virgil says. “I know this is hard. But if you don't get your ass in gear, I'm going to murder you myself.”

“Oh, we're joking about that now?” Roman asks as he pulls on his boots.

“Who said I was joking? Come on, come on, stay very quiet and follow me…”

The two of them sneak out of the camp, past the guard, into a ridge of hills that gives them good cover. Roman is surprised. It's not like Dee to be sloppy, leave holes in the defences like that. It's almost like…

But he shakes the thought off, as they steal away into the countryside.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all.
> 
> I'm glad you're enjoying the fic so far! I'm going to take a break from posting next week so I can work on some other projects and get some more chapters edited (and hopefully the ending written!). Next chapter will be out Monday 27th!


	9. Chapter 9

They move quickly for hours, putting as much distance between themselves and the camp as they can. It's only when they stop for lunch that it hits Roman:

They have nowhere to go.

They're fugitives from both sides of the war, from rebels and crown alike. Roman's family want to try him for a deserter. Morality wants to torture them both into insanity.

What the _fuck_ are they meant to do now?

They rest for a little while in an abandoned barn. This close to the fighting, there are plenty of empty homes, fields left to grow wild with no-one there to harvest them. In times of war, the ordinary people suffer under both sides.

Oh, how Roman can relate.

“So, what's our plan?” Roman asks, trying to sound light.

“Don't die,” Virgil quips. “Uh… honestly, I have no idea.”

Roman tries to think of anywhere they might be able to go, anywhere they might be safe.

He wishes they were back at university. Where they'd met, and spent those three glorious years together. But that was a long way from here, across the sea, and they have no money or papers to go back.

As if it would ever be possible to go back.

 

He's still racking his brain for ideas when it happens. This time, there is no warning. The door to the barn simply opens, and there he is.

Logic. Morality's right hand.

“Virgil.” Logic sighs. “Come on. You've had your fun. This is enough.”

Virgil is on his feet, a dagger in each hand.

“Logan, I'm warning you –”

“I'm not here to fight you,” Logic says, calmly. “Just step outside. You know what has to be done.”

“You're not dragging me back to him again.”

“No. I'm not. My orders are quite clear.” Logan adjusts his glasses. “Either you come with me willingly, or you die.”

Virgil doesn't move an inch.

“We can make this painless,” Logan says slowly. “You know why the prince has to go. It isn't personal, it's –”

“Not _personal_ –” Virgil snaps, but Roman puts a hand on his arm.

“You don't have to do it. You don't even have to see it. Just step outside, and in a few minutes, this can all be over. You can come home, and we – together, we can make things right again. You and me and Patton.”

Virgil winces at the name.

“Morality is insane,” Roman points out.

Logan fixes him with an icy glare.

“He is exactly what your family made him,” he says coldly. “We both are.”

Roman sees red for a moment.

“My father took you in!” he snaps. “You were his advisors, he _trusted_ you, and you – you –”

He hesitates, standing in front of Logan. Logan rolls his eyes.

“Go ahead, hit me,” he says. “It'll be the last thing you ever do.”

“You know what? Fine!”

Roman swings a fist, letting all of his rage burn through him, and it collides with a satisfying crunch of broken bone.

Logan blinks at him. And then –

Then he starts shaking.

“What did you do?” he asks, and suddenly indigo sparks are dancing at his fingertips. “What the fuck did you do to me?”

Roman dances back to Virgil.

“Uh, what _did_ you do to him?” Virgil asks in a low voice, as Logan's face turns red and the strain is visible on his face.

“Bought you an opening!” Roman replies, dodging a spray of magic. “Come on!”

Logan roars with rage, lashing out with bright bursts of magic, but his aim is wild and it's clear his control of the magic is tenuous at best. It only takes a minute before Virgil gets in a clean shot, and knocks the sorcerer unconscious.

“Take that, asshole!” Roman yells at his unmoving form, slumped on the ground. He has to fight the urge to kick Logan in the ribs while he's down. “Come on, help me tie him up.”

“Or,” Virgil says, in a tone of 'this is obvious,' “we could kill him.”

Roman shoots him a look. “Do you know what Logan's inborn magic is? His particular gift?”

Virgil shakes his head. “I know he was Morality's interrogator…”

Roman laughs, bitterly.

“That doesn't surprise me. Logan can control memories. See them, share them… take them away.”

“Oh.” Virgil says. “You mean…”

“Everything you've forgotten, _he_ took from you,” Roman says. “And I think it's about time we made him give it back.”

They tie Logan tightly, making sure his hands won't be able to move an inch. Without hand motions or skin contact, none of his magic will be able to work.

“You have magic too, don't you?” Virgil asks, while they're tying him up. “You did something, when you punched him? You never told me.”

“I don't use it a lot,” Roman explains. “And I wouldn't… never on you. I can make people feel things more strongly. Whatever they already feel, deep inside, it comes out. Logic… apparently, he's angry. _Really_ angry.”

Virgil hesitates, but then finally asks: “… why wouldn't you use it on me?”

Roman chuckles softly.

“I don't need you any more afraid of me than you already are.”

Virgil looks surprised.

“Who – who says that deep down, I'm afraid of you?”

Roman blinks at him. But before he can answer, Logan begins to stir.

“To be continued,” Roman mouths at Virgil, before turning to their captive.

 


	10. Chapter 10

Logan shakes himself back into awakeness, and then scowls at the two of them.

“Really?” he asks, struggling against his bonds.

“It's nothing _personal_ ,” Virgil snaps back at him.

“Virgil, I came here trying to help you,” Logan says, a little reproachfully. “I thought we were friends.”

“You stole my memories!”

Logan shakes his head.

“To help you. To make things easier. Because… Roman had to die, either way.”

Roman raises a hand.

“Hey, quick question: why?”

Logan gives Roman a flat look.

“Do you honestly not know?”

Roman shakes his head. “No, I'm pretty short on 'reasons why I have to cease living'.”

“When I first came to the palace. Do you remember?”

Roman nods. He had been about seven or eight. It had been so exciting, the new palace wards who were only a few years older than him. And over time, Logan and Patton had become his father's advisors, Roman's friends… or so he'd thought.

Right up until he found out that the advisors had turned traitor, killed his father, and kidnapped his love.

“Did it never strike you as odd, that we were working at the palace so young?”

Roman frowns. He'd never really thought about it. He had only been a child.

“Did you never wonder what exactly we were doing for your father?”

They were advisors. They did advisor-y things!

“Why we didn't have homes to go to? Families?”

They had been orphans, wards. Hadn't they?

“Go on then,” Roman says, reluctantly. “Tell me what _you_ think happened.”

“Our abilities were valuable, and dangerous. The King decided we were too valuable to be out of sight. He brought us to the palace to be watched… and to be of use to him.”

Logan smiles, as cold as a wolf's snarl.

“I was an interrogator long before I was a rebel, Roman.”

“No. You're lying, you're –”

“Your father was using me to get information from the time I was ten years old. And for those people he decided that was too good for, who needed punishment? Well, that was when they'd call Patton in. You called him insane… how many people do you think you could torture, 'my prince', before you started to lose bits of your own mind in the process?”

Roman bit his lip. His father had been… a good king.

That wasn't always the same as being a good man.

“Alright,” he says slowly. “Say that this is true. He's dead now. I'm not him! And my brother – you know he would _never_ …”

Logan snorts.

“He might not. But his children? His grandchildren?” He shakes his head. “This can never happen again. The royal line ends, forever. There is no other way.”

“And Virgil? Why does he deserve this? Why take his memories, why take him at all?” Roman demands, his heart breaking a little.

Suddenly, Logan kicks out. Roman scrambles back, but it's too late, there's a moment of contact, Logan's shin against his hand, and the memory swims before his eyes –

_Virgil is stepping off a boat. He catches sight of Roman, and hurries towards him with a smile._

“ _You must be Logan!” he says. “Roman told me all about you. You're here to collect me, right?”_

“… _Right,” Logan agrees slowly. After all, a revolution needs soldiers. And Patton is so good at making people see the truth…_

“He was a good fighter,” Logan spits. “Especially once he was scared enough. Fear is a powerful motivator, you know?”

“So I was just… a useful tool?”

Logan shakes his head. “Oh, Virgil. We're all someone's tools. It's just a case of knowing who's using you.”

“Give. Them. Back.” Roman snarls. “Give him back what you took from him. He deserves –”

“Why would I bother?” Logan raises an eyebrow. “I'll just make him forget again. He isn't going to remember any of this. He's going to be a good little soldier, and fight for the revolution, and he'll help make all this right. And you'll be dead. So in the end, what does any of this matter?”

“How's this for mattering?” Virgil snarls, and before Roman can react, can stop him, there's a flash of a black dagger, and Logan… isn't talking any more.

Isn't going to talk ever again.

Roman stares at Virgil in shock.

“Your… your memories?”

“He was never going to give them back,” Virgil says, shaking his head. “It was my choice to make, Ro.”

Roman gets to his feet. He doesn't know what to say.

“Come on,” Virgil says. “We should move.”

Roman lights a signal fire before they move on. Someone will come by to check sooner or later. They'll find an apology. A message. A warning.

A dead man.

Courtesy of the Black Knight and the Rogue Prince.

 

“Will you stop looking at me like that?”

They've made camp for the night, somewhere a safe distance away. When Virgil snaps at Roman, it's the first time he's spoken in hours.

“That depends,” Roman retorts. “Are you ready to stop moping and actually talk to me?”

“I'm not going to apologise,” Virgil says.

Roman frowns, confused.

“For losing the chance at getting my memories back,” Virgil explains, huffily. “I know you're mad or whatever but –”

“I'm not angry!” Roman protests. “Of course I'm not. I'm… Virgil, you killed someone you thought was a friend today. I'm worried about you.”

“Oh.” Virgil hunches in on himself. “I'll be fine.”

“You don't have to be,” Roman says. “Today was… rough. For both of us. So if you want to talk about it… I'm here.”

Virgil is silent for several seconds.

“He made me think that he cared about me. That we were doing the right thing together. I… trusted him. But he lied to me.”

Suddenly, Roman can't escape the image of his father's face.

“I know,” he says softly.

Virgil buries his face against Roman's shoulder.

“I'm sorry that the memories are gone,” he says, softly.

“That's okay,” Roman replies. “We can make new ones.”


	11. Another Story

Once upon a time, there was a boy who turned into a monster at night.

In the daytime, the boy lived in a palace, a ward of the Royal Court. He had his own bedroom, and fine clothes, and as many books as he could read. He was tutored by the finest teachers in the land, and was the playmate to the heirs of noble houses, including the Princes themselves.

But at night –

At night, perhaps once a month – although sometimes more often, and sometimes less so – the men would come to escort the boy down to the dungeons, where the darkness hid moaning figures, and the thick scent of human suffering hung in the air. The boy was not permitted to talk about the things he did there, about the men whose memories he rifled through or the secrets that he reported back to the guards. He spoke of it to no-one, fearful of the punishment that had been threatened.

It had been years since the boy had last seen his parents.

There was only one other at the palace who understood – a boy a few months younger, although he had been there at the palace almost a year longer. He was taken down to the dungeons at night too, and while they were not permitted to discuss their work with each other, it was a comfort to know that someone, at least, knew the truth.

For a time, they had been taken to the dungeons together. The first boy would seek out the information the guards wanted, and then the second would be set to find any truths that memory could not hold – feelings, suspicions, beliefs. That was how it had begun, at least. The younger boy was talented, and he knew the trick of creating almost any emotion you cared to name. With a brush of his hand he could summon elation, anxiety, love, rage. Every vision he created was a work of art.

The guards did not care for artistry. Their requests grew blunter, harsher. They wanted the men in the cells to suffer for what they had done. They demanded same emotions again and again: grief, horror, fear.

It was difficult for the boy to watch as his friend began to suffer nightmares, would crawl into bed alongside him at night and whimper and weep in his sleep, crying out just like the men he had made suffer. When the boys were fourteen, the elder protested. He could get the information on his own, he insisted – he was good enough. The younger boy was unnecessary.

After that outburst, they were no longer allowed to work together at the same time. But the younger boy's visits to the dungeon had not stopped. If anything, his nightmares grew more frequent. He laughed more, brighter. In the palace gardens, the games he played turned crueller.

He had not snuck into the older boy's room for months now. But it had been the younger boy's sixteenth birthday today. The King had announced that they were to begin apprenticing his advisors, so that they could take up a position with him when they reached their majorities.

The elder boy had long since abandoned any hope of seeing his family again. He was no longer sure he wanted to. But he knew that the younger boy had been more hopeful, more naïve. And so that night, he slipped into his friend's room once more.

The younger boy was curled into a ball, crying over something. His efforts to hide it under his pillow were too slow for the elder boy not to recognise the tell-tale flash of steel in the moonlight.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, in a quiet, awed voice.

“I stole it from the kitchens,” the other answered. Then, like a child's secret, a whisper in the other boy's ear: “I'm going to kill the King.”

“No!” The elder boy spoke louder than he meant to, and clapped a hand over his mouth. “No, Patton, you can't.”

“I'm going to,” Patton said, coldly. “And if you try and stop me, I'll – I'll –”

His shoulders sagged.

“Please don't try and stop me.”

The elder boy shook his head.

“No, Patton, I – if you stab the King with a kitchen knife, then the guards will kill you!”

“What if I don't care?”

“There's a better way!” the boy insisted. “I'll help you find a better way.”

“You promise?” Patton asked, his eyes wide. “Promise me, Logan. Promise me that we'll kill him together.”

Logan nodded, firmly. It was all so clear inside him now, years of festering rage pushed down so deep that it crystallised like diamond.

“When the time is right,” he said. “I promise you that we will kill the King. And we'll destroy this whole palace too, once and for all.

“Then we'll finally be free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this interlude! This marks the half-way point (approximately) of the fic as a whole.
> 
> It's all downhill from here.


	12. Chapter 12

Roman and Virgil fall asleep, curled up together for warmth beside the ashes of a dying fire.

And Roman wakes with a hand clasped over his mouth.

He's being dragged backwards, away from the warmth in front of him – _Virgil, no, please let Virgil be safe_ –

“Hello, Roman,” purrs a voice in his ear. “I'm here to kill you.”

Roman throws the figure off him, and they let go, laughing.

“Asshole!” Roman says grumpily. “You scared me half to death.”

“Oh, gurl.” Prince Remy chuckles. “If I was trying to kill you, you'd be dead.”

Roman rolls his eyes at his brother.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he snarks. Then: “Wait, you're _not_ here to kill me?”

Remy's expression softens slightly, and even with his eyes hidden behind dark glass Roman knows his twin well enough to see the rare look of sympathy on his face. Sympathy, but not surprise.

“We found a little surprise waiting for us, in a barn nearby. I knew you'd be in the area but… I _might_ not have sent word back to H.Q. yet.”

“H.Q.? You mean the King.”

“I mean our _brother_ ,” Remy snaps back. “Or did you forget about that when Mr Dark and Stormy Knight here flashed his baby blues at you?”

Roman glances down at Virgil, still asleep. He's not exactly a heavy sleeper, which means…

“You enchanted him?” Roman snarls at Remy.

Remy's power is the opposite of Roman's: numbness, the emptiness of feeling. And, when the situation demands it, sleep.

“Bitch, of course I enchanted him!” Remy snaps back. “I wanted to talk to you, not your assassin boy-toy. It's not like it'll hurt him –”

“Don't you think he's had enough magic used on him without his permission?” Roman snaps back. “Don't you think – if you'll do that to him as well, what makes us _any_ better than they are, huh?”

“Ro, what –” Remy gapes at him. “What the fuck did he say to get in your head like that?”

Roman deflates a little, the fight going out of him. He doesn't want to fight. He doesn't want to be on opposite sides. But –

“It wasn't him,” he says, in a low voice. “Stop – don't blame him. If you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me.”

“Well, okay then.” Remy shrugs. Then: “ _ **What the fuck were you thinking**_? You _deserted_? In the middle of a fucking _uprising_? You were a _general_. We're your _family_ , and you _left_ us, Roman, what the _fuck_?”

“You done?” Roman asks, as casual as he can make it sound.

Remy's hug almost knocks him over backwards.

“I thought you were dead, you complete and utter bastard,” Remy murmurs in his ear. “You got captured by Morality, I thought – we thought –”

Roman doesn't know what to say. He wraps his arms around Remy, and pretends that neither of them are shaking.

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs back. “I… Well, you always seemed to get along fine without me before?”

The joke falls flat. Remy holds him at arm length, looking like he wants to shake Roman, in spite of being considerably skinnier than him.

“Tell me that Morality fucked with your mind,” Remy says flatly. “Tell me that you're out here chasing hallucinations and you have no idea that you fled from your own side _twice over_.”

“I…”

Roman has barely opened his mouth when Remy sighs dramatically.

“You don't have to say it,” he says. “I know you. And this situation is certified, Grade A Roman bullshit if I ever smelled it.”

Roman glances at Virgil. Not for any particular reason, it's just habit at this point. Keeping Virgil in his sight at all times.

Normally, his brother isn't there to notice.

“So…” Remy says.

Roman shrugs. “I'd die for him.”

Remy snorts, and Roman can hear the eye-roll.

“Gurl, did you ever think about _living_ for him instead?”

Roman hesitates a moment, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“For him?” He takes a deep breath. “Yeah, I might just do that.”

Remy raises his eyebrows.

“He'd better be worth it.”

“He is.” Roman smiles. “You'd love him, Rem.”

Remy frowns. “It's a shame I'm not gonna get to meet him.”

“I take it we're not getting arrested?” Roman asks, his heart in his throat. “Is this… are you here to say goodbye?”

Remy snorts.

“You're such a drama queen. No, I'm not arresting your dumb ass and dragging you home. Go do your whole dying-for-true-love thing if you gotta. But… try and come home afterwards?”

Roman blinks at him.

“I didn't think we'd be welcome. Given… well. Everything I've done. And everything Virgil…”

Remy shrugs. “I didn't say it'd be easy – you did _kinda_ commit treason. But… he wants to forgive you as much as I do. You just gotta give him a reason. 'Kay?”

Remy embraces Roman once more, and for a moment they hold each other tight, and all the world falls away.

“Bring him home,” Remy murmurs. “I want to finally meet him.”

“I'll try,” Roman whispers back.

Remy turns away, and at the last moment Roman calls out:

“Did you know?”

Remy turns back.

“About what our father did to Morality? Did you know?”

Remy chuckles.

“Oh, _hun_. It was never a secret. You just didn't want to see it.”

And with those words Prince Remus, Spymaster to the Crown, disappears into the darkness and is gone.


	13. Chapter 13

Virgil wakes up the next morning alone. Roman is already awake and dressed.

He doesn't tell Virgil how long he's been sat up, unable to sleep.

They go about the motions of starting the day, washing and eating breakfast. But before they leave the makeshift camp, Roman motions for Virgil to sit beside him.

“We need to talk about… what we do next,” he says, slowly. “Where we're going.”

Virgil raises an eyebrow. “You practise this speech?”

Roman pulls a face.

“Look, I've been thinking about it and… we have two options, right?”

“Do either of them involve me not having to listen to this?”

“No,” Roman says. “Option one: we head for the border. Get out of the kingdom, get as far away as we need to. Find a normal life somewhere. We leave this whole mess behind and start anew.”

He pauses, glancing at Virgil.

“That's a thought,” Virgil says mildly.

“Is it what you want?”

“I…” Virgil shakes his head. “It's been a long time since anyone asked me that, Ro. But I know one thing.”

“What's that?”

“It's not what you want.”

Roman shrugs. He can't deny it, but…

“If that's what you want, I'll do it gladly.”

He lets himself imagine it for a moment. The two of them, in some cottage far away from here, working ordinary jobs where no-one knows who they are, or what they've been through, or the things they've done along the way.

“It's been a long war, Vee. I… wouldn't mind laying my weapons down.”

Virgil snorts.

“Horse. _Shit_. If you gave up on anything that easy, we would never have gotten this far. You're in this fight to the bitter end, so I might as well stay and stop you from getting killed in the process.”

“Virgil…”

“Shut up, you asked for my opinion and I vote no to option one.” He takes Roman's hand. Roman's breath catches in his throat, but Virgil doesn't even seem to notice that this is the first time he's touched Roman so casually. “What's option two?”

Roman takes a deep breath.

“We're fugitives from the King's army, and they're better equipped than the rebels. We should head south again, back into rebel territory.”

Virgil raises his eyebrows.

“That's not much of a plan, Princey. What's the rest?”

“I want to go back to the rebel camp.” Roman swallows hard. “And kill Morality.”

Virgil drums the fingers of his free hand, but he doesn't let go of Roman.

”… why?” he says eventually.

Roman blinks at him. “How do you mean?”

“I mean why? Why him, in particular? If you want to fuck up the rebel forces, there are easier targets –”

“I don't care.”

“He isn't the whole rebellion, Roman. He's not even in charge, not really. This won't end with him.”

“That's not why I want to do it.”

“So why?” Virgil runs his free hand through his hair. “Make me understand what you're thinking, cause right now, this sounds crazy –”

“I don't want to scare you.” Roman's grip is so gentle it's almost non-existent, ready to let go the moment Virgil pulls away.

“I'm not going to run away.” Virgil holds on tighter. “Just tell me the truth.”

“The truth is…”

There are other things Roman could say right now. He could say that he wants Virgil to feel safe, to know that Morality isn't out there any more. He could say that he wants the King to accept him back, to give his brothers the win they need to forgive him publicly.

But those wouldn't be the truth. And Virgil has lived through enough lies.

They both have.

“The truth is,” Roman says calmly, “that he took you away from me, and he hurt you, and I want him dead for it.”

Virgil goes very still for a few seconds. Roman steels himself, ready to hide the wince when he pulls away –

And then Virgil starts to laugh.

It's a chuckle at first, but it quickly becomes a full belly laugh, doubled over, borderline hysterical, wiping tears from his eyes. And through it all, Virgil's hand is clasped tight around Roman's, never for a moment letting go.

Roman waits until Virgil can breathe again before raising an eyebrow at his love.

Virgil shrugs, unapologetically.

“It's just.” He grins. “I was starting to think you were too good to be true. It's good to know you're still human.”

“It wasn't a joke,” Roman tells him.

The mirth fades a little in Virgil's eyes.

“No,” he says. “I know it wasn't.”

Virgil bites at his lip a little.

“Morality… scares me,” he admits, his voice wavering just a little. “The thought of you going after Morality scares me even more.”

“If you won't go, then I'll stay with you,” Roman says, and he means it. “You matter more than revenge. But… I want him to suffer. Every time I see the hurt in your eyes, or you pull away. Every time I remember those long years apart. I want to take it out of him, piece by piece. I want him to hurt as bad as he hurt us.” He snorts. “But I'll settle for his death as a close second.”

“You think I don't know how that feels?” Virgil answers. “To hate someone so much you think you'd leap into a flame just to watch them burn with you? I'm not some broken toy, Roman, I'm not just afraid. I'm angry too, I'm hurting. For myself, and for you, whenever you look at me like – like that!”

He gestures at Roman's face.

“But… if you don't succeed.” Virgil grits his teeth. “If you fail, then you are handing him the one thing he needs to destroy me utterly, you understand? I can't lose you.”

“Perhaps he'd be merciful, and turn us both into his puppets,” Roman jokes, darkly. “Being evil wouldn't be so bad if it was with you.”

Virgil's eyes darken.

“You don't know him,” he says, ominously. “He won't be merciful. Not to us.”

“Don't think about what happens if we lose,” Roman says.

“Okay, so what if we win?” Virgil demands. “We're trapped behind enemy lines, still hunted by the King, still –”

“Uh.” Roman grins sheepishly. “About that…”

“What?”

“We had a visitor last night. My brother.”

“The _King_?”

“No, no! Remy – uh, Prince Remus.”

Virgil blinks. “I… he's not really an army guy. I thought he was uh… kind of an airhead, to be honest. A courtier and all that. What's he doing all the way out here?”

Roman smirks. Remy will be glad to know his cover is intact.

“You probably know him by a different name,” he says softly. “Sleep.”

Virgil stares at him.

“You're telling me. That the King's bloodied left hand. Was _here_ _last_ _night_?” He pauses. “And we're _**both still alive???**_ ”

“He's my brother?” Roman says, sounding apologetic. “Also, lest we forget, the King's _iron right_ _fist_ is, uh, _me._ ”

“So what did he say?” Virgil's eyes narrow. “Was this all his idea?”

“No,” Roman says. “… I don't think so? It can be hard to tell with Remy, sometimes.”

Virgil puts his head in his hands. “Great. That's great.”

“ _But_ he did say that the King is open to forgiving both of us, if we can get a big enough win to give the public an excuse.”

“And you decided we just _had_ to go for Morality.” Virgil sighs. “I can't believe your brother is an assassin.”

“… You're an assassin.”

“Exactly. Do you ever worry about your life choices?”

Roman kisses his hand. “Around you? Never.”

Virgil sighs.

“Okay,” he says. “How are we doing this?”

“Hmm?” Roman asks.

“Morality. How are we going after him?”

Roman stares at him.

“Virgil,” he says slowly. “If you're at all unsure –”

“Of course I'm unsure!” Virgil laughs. “We could die! In so many ways! But, I'm not going to let you do it alone –”

“I wouldn't –”

“And one of us needs to kill that fucker,” Virgil finishes. “For what he did to us. We deserve that.”

A chill runs down Roman's spine.

“We do,” he agrees.

“Okay, then.” Virgil sweeps his hair back out of his eyes, and Roman's heart skips a beat. “Let's go be heroes, shall we?”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning for this chapter in the end notes. Take care of yourselves!

By the time they make camp that evening, they have a plan, or at least the shape of one. They've also crossed into rebel territory, Roman knows – not that it looks much different. They find an empty cabin in the woods – not much more than a shack, really, but it'll provide some shelter for the night.

“So…” Virgil stretches. “We might die tomorrow, I guess.”

Roman frowns. “If you want to back out –”

“Nah, that's not what I meant.” Virgil shrugs. “I just… I know I've done the whole night-before-a-battle thing plenty of times before, but this time feels different.”

Roman doesn't say anything.

“I'm not used to having something worth fighting for.”

“I am an inspiring figure,” Roman preens.

“I mean it, asshole.” Virgil knocks him in the side. “If you're still alive this time tomorrow, that'll be the best thing I've ever done.”

Roman doesn't know what to say to that.

“Virgil, I…” He shakes his head. “I'm not perfect. Not even close. You know. We've been in battles together, before, you've seen what I'm like.”

“Yeah, and you've seen what I'm like,” Virgil snarks. “We're both soldiers, Ro. Our hands aren't clean.”

“That wasn't…”

“Wasn't me? Then who the fuck am I, if I don't remember anything else?”

Virgil runs a hand through his hair.

“I'm saying this all wrong. What I mean is… I don't care that you're not perfect. You're _mine_.”

His voice is low and fierce, and a shiver runs down Roman's spine.

Virgil turns to face Roman, taking both his hands suddenly.

“I want to – I need you to understand, what it was like, before. Don't – don't say anything, okay?”

“Of course.” Roman nods.

“When I was with Patton, I… I might have been feared on the battlefield, but in camp? I was Morality's little toy soldier. I achieved my objectives because I was told to, and because I was… scared of what would happen if I didn't.”

Virgil's face goes a little paler, and Roman's heart cracks in an all-too-familiar way.

“But between battles, when there wasn't an objective… I wasn't like the other soldiers. I didn't believe in the cause, I didn't have a life I wanted to go back to. I just had Morality and Logic's commands, and when they weren't looking… I was a tool on the shelf.

“And, well. Tools are meant to be used.”

Roman's stomach drops.

“Sometimes someone would take a shine to me, because they liked my face, or they liked the idea of besting the Black Knight, or they wanted a turn playing with Morality's toy.” Virgil winces. “And I… went along with it. Because it felt good, to be a little less alone. No-one ever _forced_ me. They didn't have to. I don't think it ever occurred to me to say 'no'.”

“It didn't mean anything.” Virgil sounds almost apologetic, and Roman is biting his tongue to keep from spilling reassurance, but he promised not to speak. “I didn't care about what anyone thought of me except Patton and Logan and it… it wasn't like that with them. They did plenty to me, but that wasn't the kind of game they played.

“I don't want you to feel sorry for me. It was just something that happened, sometimes. But I want you to understand that I never… love wasn't in my vocabulary. It wasn't even a possibility.

“And then I met you.”

Roman's mouth is dry. His chest aches, and his guts feel like he's been stabbed through with a knife. He wants to get down on his knees and beg Virgil's forgiveness for allowing this to happen, for not getting him out sooner –

Virgil smiles, small and a little wavering, but unmistakeable. Roman feels pinned in place.

“And you mattered. Ever since the moment we met, no matter how hard I tried to fight it, I felt this _pull_ towards you. I didn't even know what it was, at first, but I think… the last couple of days, I think I'm starting to.

“So I need you to understand, that when I say you're mine… I never had that before. I never got to decide. But this is me, choosing. Out of all the asshole princes in the world, this is my one. You don't have to be perfect, that doesn't matter. You just have to be _Roman_. Okay?”

Roman finally lets himself speak.

“Okay,” he says softly. Then: “Virgil, would it be alright if… I kissed you?”

Virgil smirks.

“I thought you'd never ask.”

Their lips meet softly and carefully, no sound but breath and heartbeat and the crackling of the fire.

“I was…” Virgil pulls back just a little, and Roman doesn't chase him. “I know the last time we kissed wasn't… how you wanted it to go. So. Let's pretend this was our first kiss instead, okay?”

“A fresh start?” Roman asks.

“I think we're due one of those.”

“I have a better idea,” Roman murmurs. “Let's make tomorrow our fresh start. And the day after, and the day after that…”

“What does that make today?” Virgil asks.

“Whatever you want it to be.”

Virgil rolls his eyes.

“Dork.”

And then he kisses Roman again. And again, and again, until their hands are in each other's hair, their breath hot in each other's mouths. Until the whole world falls away, and there's no thought of anyone but each other.

Roman wishes this feeling could last forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter discusses some past sexual situations that were deeply unhealthy about consent. If this is a trigger for you, I can summarise the chapter in the comments!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings in the end notes. We're about to get intense, so please be careful with yourselves!

“Are you a loaf of bread, Roman? Because us meeting like this is getting _stale_.”

Roman grunts in pain as the guards force him to his knees in front of Morality. He and Virgil had been approaching the rebel's camp when a guard patrol had stumbled across them. After a brief skirmish, Roman had been taken captive. This time, he had been conscious as he was frog-marched into camp as a prisoner, the rebel soldiers jeering at him. A couple had thrown rocks, but the guards had put a quick stop to that.

“He's Morality's,” the man holding him had snapped. “If you want to face the punishment for killing him before the commander gets a chance…”

There hadn't been any more rocks after that.

Roman's one consolation was that he was alone. Virgil had gotten away. Roman hoped with all his might that his love was safe and uninjured. He could withstand whatever came next, just as long as Virgil was okay.

“Well,” Patton says with a grin, “aren't you going to say hello to your old friend?”

Roman glowers at him.

“I don't see any friends of mine here.”

“Oh! I see!” Patton laughs. “You think because I went easy on you before, because your little army came to rescue you, that you don't have to be afraid of me. You always were arrogant, over-confident – and so naïve. Even as a child, your father and brothers knew not to trust you with anything important, didn't they? And we knew it too, your friends, that you were only ever good for following orders, never the one to make the decision –”

“You weren't my friend,” Roman snaps.

The backhand across his face doesn't come as a surprise, but it still knocks him to the ground.

“You're right,” Patton says, pressing a foot on Roman's shoulder so that he's pinned face-down against the stone floor. “We were never friends, not really. I only had one friend in the whole world. And then _you took him from me_.”

Patton's boot moves from his shoulder, to his neck, and suddenly its hard to breathe.

“Logan was the only other good person in this whole rotten world, and you and Virgil killed him. So here's how it's gonna go, Prince Roman.”

Patton's voice twists, and suddenly Roman's neck is free, and he's being hauled upright, face-to-face with Patton.

“I am going to make you suffer every last bit of pain your family has ever inflicted on the people of this nation a thousandfold. I am going to break you into tiny little pieces, and leave you begging me to kill you. And when I finally do, I am going to hang your body out on the battlements so the whole world knows how the Prince broke under my hands.” Patton laughs cruelly. “Do you think they'll mourn you? Your brothers, your people? Do you think Virgil will cry for you? Perhaps he'll do the world a favour and finally put himself out of my –”

Roman lurches forward, trying to headbutt Patton, but Patton throws him to the floor before he connects. Roman feels something in his shoulder wrench out of position as he lands in a heap, but he bites down the cry of pain. He isn't going to show any weakness.

“Virgil is better than that,” he snarls. “He's better than you.”

“Virgil is what I _made_ him,” Patton shouts back. “Me and Logan, we scooped out everything inside of him and filled the hole with hatred and obedience. You're in love with a ghost, Roman, and you don't even realise he's been dead for years! Everything Virgil is, all that rage and viciousness, he got from _us_.

“But I do want to thank you, Roman.”

Patton's voice is suddenly quiet again, that bright smile back on his face, and for the first time, a sense of cold fear forms in Roman's gut.

“You see, Virgil never cared all too much about himself. But you?” Patton chuckles, incongruously bright. “Showing him how I destroyed you will be an _excellent_ way to punish him. Which reminds me…”

Patton dragged Roman up onto his knees again, this time pulling him by his injured – yep, definitely dislocated – arm. Roman winces, but when he sees the look in Patton's eyes, his blood goes cold. He shuts his eyes tight, trying to pull away –

“Oh, poor stupid Roman.” Patton strokes a hand down his face, and Roman shudders. “Did you really think it would be that easy?”

And then Roman is somewhere else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning for violence, mind games/manipulation, threats (including torture & murder), and implied reference to suicide.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter's warnings about torture and violence continue to apply.

Roman is standing in a dark room, lit only by flickering torches.

_Except he's not, he's kneeling on a stone floor, he can feel his eyes closed and his hands bound behind his back –_

He looks down at the wretched figure in front of him. Corpse-pale, and trembling in heavy iron shackles. Fresh cuts criss-cross his abdomen, and his violet hair is slicked to his forehead with sweat.

 _Virgil_.

“Please,” Virgil sobs, his voice hoarse and broken, like he's been crying, like he's been _screaming_ – “Please, Roman, stop, I don't understand, I thought you loved me –”

“Oh?” Roman hears his own voice ask, hears his laugh echo around the dungeon. “Well that was your mistake, wasn't it? You were _convenient_ , that's all. I was having fun with you. And now… well, I'm _still_ having fun…”

Virgil sobs brokenly as Roman's hand moves towards him, holding a knife, cutting another slow, shallow slice across his stomach. Blood oozes out from the wound, trickling in rivulets in the hollow spaces between Virgil's ribs.

“Cry all you like,” Roman tells him. “You're going to be here a long, long time…”

Roman blinks, and he's back on the floor, kneeling in front of Patton. Patton wipes a tear from his cheek, and smiles without a trace of humour in his eyes.

“Cry all you like, Roman,” he repeats. “You're going to be here a _long_ time.”

 

Roman is methodically breaking every bone in Virgil's hand, heedless as his love screams and begs him to stop, promising to do anything if Roman will only stop hurting him.

Roman is a prisoner, lured here by a false promise of love, and Virgil stands loyal behind Patton, moving forward at Morality's command to deal the killing blow.

Roman is safe and rescued. He reunites with Virgil, and when they embrace in greeting, he stabs his love in the gut and watches him bleed out on the floor.

Patton uses his power on Roman again and again, until he can no longer tell which of the worlds he sees is reality. He fights to remember – was Morality truly Virgil's torturer, or did Roman only wish he was innocent? Did he and Virgil ever escape the rebel camp, or was that just another dream? Was Roman ever truly the hero he thought he is, when now his mind swims with visions of his crimes?

There is no respite granted by closing his eyes, no way to block out the constant stream of pain and violence. There is only Virgil, screaming, hurting, dying, begging to die, begging Roman to stop, begging to be _away from him_ –

Roman comes to, panting on the stone floor, covered in a sheen of sweat. He has no idea how long he's been lying there. It feels like the visions lasted days, but he doesn't remember needing to eat or sleep.

… assuming this is the real world. He can't tell any more, whether this is real, or just another illusion. But he doesn't see Virgil, so he hopes –

“Time to take a break,” Patton says slowly. He's sat on a chair a short distance away. “Don't worry. You'll be seeing Virgil again soon. But it's a shame not to start cutting into that beautiful, perfect body of yours while you're still sane enough to know what's happening to you.”

Patton strolls over to the door, and opens it, ushering in someone in a healer's blue armband. They are wheeling a tray of brutal-looking weapons in front of them.

“I think we'll start with your legs,” Patton muses, picking up a blade as long as Roman's arm. “You always were vain of them, weren't you? And of course, it solves the problem of you running away. But don't worry, I won't let you bleed out.” He smirks. “Yet.”

He snaps his fingers at the healer, ordering them to pin Roman face-down, even though Roman barely has the energy left to struggle against his bound wrists.

“No!” he sobs. “No, please – please, I'll do anything!”

“Really?”

Patton pauses, walking over to grab Roman's chin, twisting his head to the side.

“I thought it would take longer to make you beg, _prince_. How disappointed would poor Virgil be, to know he's not even the thing it would hurt you most to lose…”

“I'll do whatever you want,” Roman pleads. “I'll fight for you, I'll tell everyone you're in the right. I'll tell you whatever you want to know, just please – _please_ –”

Patton motions for the healer to let him go, and Roman struggles onto his knees, keeping his head bowed.

“Go on,” Patton says, a smile playing around this lips. “Convince me.”

“I'll do anything you say,” Roman whispers, sounding utterly defeated. “You know… you know I can be a good soldier. I'll follow your orders. Just don't – please don't –”

The healer, who is stood behind Patton, presses a long, familiar black knife to his throat.

“Don't ever touch him again,” Virgil suggests, with a wicked smile.

 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains graphic violence and death.

Patton moves so fast that it makes Roman's head spin. In one fluid motion, he draws his own rapier and whirls to face Virgil, their blades meeting in a crash of steel.

Roman knows he has to act fast. He staggers to his feet, and races towards the tray of implements Virgil wheeled in with him. The blades are beautifully sharp, and he's able to cut his hands free from their ties in seconds, wincing in pain as his injured shoulder is suddenly unbound and dangling at an awkward angle. Only a few seconds more, and he's armed himself, albeit with a bone saw instead of his preferred sword. He holds the blade in his non-dominant, but uninjured, right hand, and rushes back into the battle.

It's not a moment too soon. Patton is a viciously skilled swordsman, faster than anyone else Roman's known, and Virgil is struggling to best him. Virgil is an incredible fighter in his own right, but he's hesitant, almost cautious. Roman wouldn't blame him for having doubts, face-to-face with Morality once more…

But Patton shows no sign of the same limitations. He fights with fury in his eyes and a snarl on his lips, and he does not hesitate. And Virgil is starting to lose ground, quickly.

Then Roman throws himself into the fray.

He's barely in a position to fight. He's dizzy and disoriented from his time as Patton's plaything. He's injured, and clearly favouring his right side. The bone saw has no balance to speak of, and he's unfamiliar with it. But two against one is forcing Patton to split his focus, to track two foes at once. And that's enough to start to shift the fight in their favour.

Roman's heart is pounding in his chest. When was the last time he and Virgil fought alongside one another? Truly _alongside_ , not against – not even their little ruse of a skirmish to get Roman inside the castle as a distraction, to keep Patton's attention occupied while Virgil cut a swift path through the guards. Yet it's like no time has passed at all, like they practised this only yesterday. They move as though they can read each other's minds, leaving space for each other's motions, timing their attacks perfectly. Morality might have stolen three years of their time together, and even Virgil's memories with them, but he can never take this from them, this perfect muscle-memory duality they share.

Morality takes a step back, but stumbles a little. He's distracted for a moment, and Roman takes the opening to lunge forward, even though he's not at the best angle –

Only for Morality's other hand to lash out, grabbing his injured arm and twisting it painfully, his sword against Roman's throat.

Virgil immediately freezes, still as stone.

“There we go,” Patton says, his voice sugary-sweet even as he hisses each breath between gritted teeth. “Nice of you to join us, Virgil! I see you're trying to make a habit of murdering your friends.”

“We have different definitions of friends,” Virgil says flatly. “The guards aren't coming, Pat. You're on your own. Let him go.”

“Now, why would I do that?”

Patton presses his sword a little closer against Roman's neck, and Roman hisses as he feels the blade break the skin a little, a hot trickle of blood running down his throat.

“We'll let you live,” Virgil offers. “We leave, you stay here. Everyone makes it out alive.”

Patton laughs, low and menacing.

“Now, Virgie,” he says. “You know I don't like being lied to.”

Roman sees the moment that Virgil snaps, panic flaring in his eyes.

“Take me instead.”

“V, no!”

“Hmmm…” Patton muses the offer, before shaking his head. “You know, I don't think I will.”

“I'm the one who killed Logan! I'm the one you want!”

“Your _pain_ is what I want,” Patton snaps back. “And I have it, right here. Who knows, once he's out of the picture, you might even be salvageable. It'll take a lot of time, of course, but I _do_ know how to be patient…”

“Don't talk about him like that!” Roman snarls.

“Roman,” Patton says flatly. “For once in your life, will you please learn to _shut_ your _mouth_.”

“Or what, you'll kill your leverage?” Roman demands. “Hate to ruin your whole torture-me-before-his-eyes shtick, but I'm not going to stand here and listen to you threaten him when –”

And then, distraction firmly established, Roman headbutts Patton as hard as he can.

It hurts like hell. Roman's knees buckle underneath him, his skull ringing and his arm screaming with pain where Patton wrenched on it as he was falling. He forces his eyes open just in time to see Patton making a lunge for him, one he has no time or energy left to block or dodge –

And then Virgil is there, between them, and there is the sick sound of a blade sinking into flesh.

Patton falls to the ground, blood bubbling at his lips.

“You'll –” he starts to say.

“Enough,” Virgil tells him, drawing his knife across Patton's throat.

And then it's over.

“Roman.” Virgil turns to him. “Roman, are you okay? Please tell me you're –”

“Yes, yes, I'm fine, I'm alright –”

Roman surges to his feet, meeting Virgil in a warm embrace, his hands shaking with adrenaline and exhaustion.

“Oh,” Virgil says softly. “Good.”

Then he drops.

Roman catches him as he falls, dropping to his knees and cradling Virgil close in his arms as he looks down…

And sees the dark stain of blood spreading across Virgil's abdomen.

“No,” Roman says, pressing down on the wound. “No, no, no, Virgil, love, stay with me –”

“Heh,” Virgil coughs. “Well, I said I was going to keep you alive, didn't I? I guess… I guess I succeeded.”

“Don't talk like that,” Roman snaps. “We can – we can find someone, they can help you – _help_!” He shouts towards the door. “ _I need help in here_!”

“They're busy,” Virgil says. “There was an attack on the main gates…”

“Help, _please_!”

“Ro, listen to me.”

The words die in Roman's throat. He presses his forehead against Virgil's, watching a tear slip down his love's cheek.

“I wouldn't have done anything differently, okay?” Virgil tells him, urgently. “I never would have changed a moment of it. Don't blame yourself for this. Okay?”

Roman nods, even as he can feel the guilt start to settle in his chest like lead.

“And…” Virgil gasps and shudders, but he keeps going. “I need you to know that I love you, Roman. Okay? I _love_ you. I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner.”

“I love you too,” Roman whispers back, and kisses him, firm and desperate, as though he can pour enough love into Virgil to save him from a gut wound.

When Roman draws back, Virgil's eyes are closed. He doesn't open them again.

Roman lets out a howl of pain, like a wounded animal, as he holds Virgil's body close to him, and finally begins to weep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> Next chapter on Monday.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for grief, death mention, injury and hospital scenes.

Roman's grief is an alien, animal wail inside him. He is aware of nothing else, not the sound of his own sobs, not even the clomping footsteps as the soldiers approach. It is only when he feels hands pulling at his shoulders that he fights back.

 _No_! He snarls at them, clutching Virgil tighter. _No, don't take him away, don't pull us apart for the final time, let me stay here, let me keep him safe until I die here with him_ –

Roman howls in pain as Virgil's body is pulled away from him, his own damaged muscles too weak to resist. He struggles weakly against whoever is holding him – for what does it matter now, whether he complies or resists? What more can they do to him, now that Virgil is gone?

“Roman!” A familiar voice snaps, and it shakes him just enough to listen. “Roman, come on, you can't be in here.”

“… Dee?” Roman asks, trying to make sense of his presence. Why would his friend be in Morality's camp? Unless… _no, Morality is dead, he has to be, or else Virgil died for nothing_ –

“For all the gods' sakes, Roman, I will drag you out of here myself if you don't stop fighting and let the healers work!”

“Healers?” Roman's limbs shake as he turns blindly towards his friend, only vaguely visible through a blurred haze of tears.

Deceit meets his gaze with a grim expression, and nods.

“He's still alive,” he tells Roman. “Only barely, but – you have to give the Healers space to work on him, there's a chance they'll be able to –”

Roman can't hear him any more. His head is too busy ringing with the words:

_He's still alive still alive he's alive alive **alive alive alive!**_

Roman lets himself be led unresistingly into a small chamber nearby. All of the soldiers walking back and forth wear crown uniform, and the healers rushing through bear the royal insignia on their shoulders.

“What happened?” Roman asks. “How are you all…?”

“We had information that today would be a good day to launch an attack against the fortress,” Dee comments, with a raise of his eyebrows. “It wasn't much of a fight. Apparently, the food in the guards' mess was poisoned this morning, and Morality himself… well.”

“… That was him,” Roman says, weakly. “It was all Vee. He…”

“Roman, we know,” Deceit says, his voice gentler than Roman's ever heard it before. “We were told to treat you as our own agents. I will send in _every healer we've got_ –”

His voice shakes, and Roman lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he says. It isn't enough, but it's all he can offer. “Thank you for even giving him a chance.”

“Of course.” Deceit rolls his shoulders, straightening his back again. “But in the meantime, let's get you taken care of. Ready for me to set that shoulder, your highness?”

Roman bit his lip. “Go ahea– _argh_!”

Deceit started patching up his injuries. At some point there was a commotion outside, and Roman tried very hard not to listen to it, fearful of what news there might be. But no-one arrived to inform him of the worst, and that was all he could ask right now.

Then Remy burst in.

“Of all the stupid, half-cocked, reckless ideas –!”

“It was _your_ reckless idea,” Roman snaps back. “You all but dared me too.”

“Gurl, you're supposed to be a master tactician!” Remy replies. “You couldn't come up with a better plan than getting yourself _taken prisoner_ by _Morality_ of all people –?”

“It got his guard down,” Roman points out. “And we did, actually, kill him, so what are you complaining about?”

“You nearly got yourself killed in the process!” Remy says, his voice rough with fear, and suddenly the air between them feels stretched tight as a drum skin.

“I thought he was dead,” Roman says, flatly. “Rem, I thought he was dead for a minute, maybe two, before Dee found us, and it felt like I had a dagger in my heart the whole time. And now it's out of my hands, there's nothing I can do, and he might still die, and –”

Remy gathers Roman into a hug before the first tear can even fall.

“Babe, I'm so sorry, I wish –” Remy shakes his head. “It's going to be okay, Roman. He's not _allowed_ to die. I have so many years of teasing you two to catch up on.”

Roman chuckles weakly.

“You always were a better liar than I was, Rem.”

 

They sit there for hours.

Deceit comes and goes, busy securing the fortress and rooting out the last of the rebels in the surrounding area. Remy refuses to leave Roman's side for as much as a minute, even as the day drags into night and there's still no word. Roman tries to sleep a couple of times, dozing fitfully against his brother's shoulder, but he's woken by dark dreams, haunted by Morality's echoing laughter and by visions of Virgil's body, cold and lifeless in his arms.

When the knock at the door comes, Roman jolts back into full alertness. He has to know – he needs to, each breath suddenly so desperate it burns like broken glass in his lungs.

A healer walks through the door, wearing a heavy cotton apron, still blood-stained from the surgery.

He's smiling, a smile that's oh-so-familiar.

“… Thomas?”

“Hey, Ro,” Thomas says, sounding tired.

“What are you –?”

“What, you thought I wouldn't come when my baby brother needed me?”

Roman's heart lifts, the hope burning inside him suddenly seeming all too real. Thomas's magic is just as powerful as his and Remy's, but where theirs is emotional, Thomas has the ability to heal the physical. He rarely uses it, given that it's seen as improper for royalty to do such work, but – if _Thomas_ worked on Virgil –

Thomas runs a hand through his hair.

“He pulled through.”

Roman's heart stops beating.

There is something roaring in his ears, like a waterfall drowning out everything except this moment.

“He's alive?” he gasps, and Remy startles into awakeness beside him.

“He's alive,” Thomas confirms, his face breaking into a smile, and Roman launches himself at him, crying gratefully into his brother's shoulder. Thomas pats his back, and a few seconds Remy leaps into the hug too, all of them embracing and smiling and weeping tears with the painful sting of hope.

“He might sleep for a few days,” Thomas explains as they calm down, “but he should wake up once the wound is fully healed. He really is a fighter, Ro. You sure do know how to pick them.”

Roman laughs, joy bubbling out of him unrestrained. And then, driven by some deep impulse, he falls to his knees.

“Thank you,” he says, pressing his head to Thomas's hand. “I'm so sorry – I know I broke my vows to you, I know you'll have to punish me, but thank you, thank you for saving him –”

“Roman,” Thomas says softly, and when Roman looks up, he can't see a trace of the King at all

He only sees his brother.

“Ro,” Thomas repeats. “We aren't talking about this today. Go be with him, okay?”

And that command, Roman is all too happy to obey.

 

A couple of days later, Roman is asleep when he feels Virgil stirring in his arms. He half-wakes, smiling at his love's restlessness, before he remembers what this means.

“… Roman?” Virgil's voice is hoarse from lack of use, and he coughs, then winces.

“Hey, hey darling, don't try and move too much.”

“I'm… how am I alive?” Virgil asks. “This can't be heaven, or I wouldn't hurt so much.”

Roman passes him a cup of water, which Virgil sips gratefully as Roman begins to explain.

“You cleared the path for the army, and you defeated Morality in single combat. You're a hero, love,” Roman murmurs.

“And you're safe?” Virgil asks, his brow creasing.

“We're both safe,” Roman promises. There's going to be a hearing, once Virgil is recovered, but he doesn't need to worry about that now.

Besides, Roman is pretty sure, whatever punishment he is given, they will be allowed to stay together. And with Virgil by his side, he can face anything.

“That's good,” Virgil mutters, his voice going vague and dreamlike. “Mmm… you're warm.”

“Do you want me to move?” Roman asks.

“No,” Virgil sighs. “'S good, love.”

And he falls softly back into sleep, while Roman's heart burns with a love so bright he feels he must be glowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so... I did, in fact, fix it.


	19. Chapter 19

It is almost a month before Virgil is well enough to travel.

He has an impressive scar across his belly now, long and jagged and shimmering with the bright oil-slick colours that Thomas's magic always leaves behind. Morality's blade had nicked his spinal cord, leaving his right leg weak and trembling, and he was still building up the limb's strength again. In the meantime, he was getting used to using a crutch to walk, and needed to ride on horseback or in a cart for any long distance.

Roman and Virgil had both been “confined” to the fortress while awaiting their sentence, not that either of them had tried to leave. The army had made a great push into rebel territory, leaving the enemy scrambling to regroup, and the fortress firmly under the King's command. Knowing that, Roman has been all too happy to spend his days curled up together in Virgil's cot, coaching Virgil through his leg stretches, or feeding him fruit and pastries to “help him recover.”

“What?” he said, when Virgil complained. “The healers said you needed to replenish your energy reserves!”

“You just think I'm too skinny,” Virgil complained. “I'm not malnourished, you know.”

“I know,” Roman agreed, cheerfully. “Now shut up and eat your honey cake.”

By the end of four weeks, Virgil had colour in his cheeks again, and he could stand for more than a few minutes without looking pained and pinched from the effort. So he and Roman finally began the journey North to the capital, in order to face judgement.

 

“It will be fine,” Roman reassures Virgil on the journey. “The King has forgiven us both. There'll be some token punishment to appease the court, but we'll be fine.”

If he says it often enough, perhaps he'll start to believe it.

Stepping into the throne room once more after so long away is a strange and humbling feeling. Roman has visited this room hundreds of times in his life, from his earliest childhood to now, but somehow… today, he is a different man. He can never again go back to who he once was.

He thinks he likes himself better this way.

Roman stands before the King, Virgil beside him – seated, in deference to his injury, although he struggles to his feet for long enough to bow when the King enters.

“Presenting King Thomas.”

Roman knows well the weight that carrying a sword can put on a man's shoulders. He wonders how heavy the crown feels on his brother's head. Perhaps that's why Thomas looks so different now than he did that day at the fortress, in healer's robes stained with Virgil's blood.

“Ser Virgil Tempest,” Thomas pronounces. “You were once a great enemy of this Kingdom, and you served and gave fealty to my enemies. However, you did so under false pretence, and you chose to defect at great personal risk. Your aid was invaluable in the Battle of Heart's Bar, in which you sustained grave injuries putting an end to the tyrannical machinations of the rebel calling himself Morality. In light of this service to our Kingdom, I hereby pardon you of all charges made against you in the course of this war, and I grant you the rights of citizen, that you might move freely through this land.”

Virgil gasps, and Roman's heart leaps. Neither of them had expected Thomas to be so generous. Roman fights the urge to grab for Virgil's hand.

But when Thomas turns to Roman, a grim look in his eye, his heart sinks.

“Prince Roman. You are my brother, and we thought you a loyal servant to the Kingdom. But you chose to abandon your post as general during a time of war, placing our army in a perilous position. Normally, the penalty for your desertion would be death.

“However.” Thomas inclines his head. “We have heard testimony from our Spymaster that during your time of absence, you voluntarily attempted to return, and were instead recruited by him to act as his agent. It was in this role that you, too, fought at the Battle of Heart's Bar, serving our purposes even in the face of torture.

“While we cannot pardon you for a crime committed knowingly and willingly, your bravery and self-sacrifice has merited a lesser sentence. As penalty for desertion, you are hereby stripped of your rank as general, and dismissed from any position in our army. You may serve me in future as commander of the City's Watch, where I and my seneschal will be able to keep an eye on you. You are hereby placed under curfew, and you may not leave this city's walls unless acting on official business. Is this understood?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

And just like that, it's over.

Virgil and Roman move aside. The court moves on to some other business, which quickly turns to gossip and small talk. Remy comes over to the two of them, and claps Roman on the back.

“You feeling punished enough, babe?” he asks with a smirk. “Barred from serving in the army. I'm sure that stings.”

Judging from Remy's grin, he's well aware that Roman couldn't care less.

“I'm restricted to the City. I guess I'm moving into the palace again.” Roman sighs. He nudges Virgil. “Hey, I think I have an opening for the head of my personal guard.”

“I don't know,” Virgil muses. “ _I_ can “move freely through this land”. Perhaps I want to go travelling…”

Roman pouts at him, and Remy laughs.

“Oh, if you want a job where you can see the whole country, I'm sure I could find a place for you in my organisation…”

Virgil goes a little pale. He and Remy lock eyes for a moment, and something seems to pass between them. He nods a little.

“Nah,” he says. “I'd better stay here. I don't know who's going to keep this idiot alive if I'm not around.”

“Hey!” Roman complains.

“Good point,” Remy agrees.

“ _Hey_!”

“I like this one,” Remy comments. He shoots Roman a look. “You'd better not lose him again.”

And then he's gone.

“How is the King only your second most intimidating brother?” Virgil grumbles.

“That's just Remy's natural charm!”

A page bows to Roman, informing them that the King wishes them to approach. Virgil groans.

“I spoke too soon, didn't I?”

“Prince Roman!” Thomas greets them with a smile. “Ser Virgil.”

“Your majesty.” They both bow, and laughter dances in Thomas's eyes.

“I suppose I have to put up with it at court, but Virgil, you really don't have to stand on ceremony with me. You've more than earned the right to call me by name.”

“Thank you,” Virgil says. “Your majesty.”

Thomas chuckles.

“Ah, I guess I set you up for that one.”

“Everything gucci?” Roman asks.

“I wanted to make sure you were alright with your punishment. I wanted to be fair…”

“You were more than generous,” Roman said. “I… think my army days are behind me, anyway. The City Guard sounds…”

“More your speed?” Thomas nods. “I thought it might be time for you to, uh, settle down…”

He looks between them pointedly, and Virgil's face goes pink.

“Virgil is going to be staying at the palace with me,” Roman says. He reaches down and grabs his love's hand. “If that's alright?”

“That sounds wonderful.” Thomas beams. “I look forward to getting to know you better, Virgil.”

“Yeah, sure, I –”

But to both of their surprise, before Virgil can formulate a response Thomas stands up, and throws his arms around the pair of them.

“Welcome home,” he says. “Both of you.”


	20. Epilogue

_Six months later:_

Roman reaches out, half-awake, feeling for Virgil. When he finds only cold, empty sheets, his eyes snap open, and he sits up, bolt upright.

“Hey!” Virgil rushes over from the desk in the corner of the room. “It's okay, Roman, I'm here, it's alright.”

Roman blinks at him. He's already dressed for the day, even though the sky outside is still watery and pale with the first rays of sunrise.

“How long have you been up?”

“Well,” Virgil says, a teasing smile on his face. “See, I have to make sure I get to work on time. My boss is a _real_ hard-ass…”

Roman thumps him on the arm.

“I had a bad dream,” Virgil admits.

“Patton again?”

“Logan.” Virgil shudders. “But let's not talk about it.”

Roman pulls him back onto the bed, and Virgil doesn't resist. Roman lays his head on Virgil's chest, and listens to his heart beat, strong and steady.

“I woke up last night too,” he comments.

“You should have woken me.”

“Didn't need to,” Roman says, softly. “It was the one where you fade into dust in front of me, but then – I woke up, and you were right there in my arms. And that was enough.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” Virgil presses a kiss to the top of his head, and then another to his mouth when Roman cranes his neck up to chase his lips.

“Mmm,” Roman hums happily. “Why'd you get dressed? This is very inconvenient.”

“Roman…”

“What? You know as well as I do that we don't have to be anywhere today until the city council meeting at noon…”

“I thought we could take a walk in the Palace gardens this morning.”

“I have a better idea,” Roman teases. “And mine doesn't involve leaving this room.”

“… You're making this much harder than it needs to be.”

“That's what he said?” Roman jokes. Then: “What?”

“Nuh-uh, I have a whole plan,” Virgil says. “We're going to the Palace gardens, and then you get to find out why.”

“Virgil…” Roman wheedles. “Come on. You love me…”

Virgil runs a hand through his violet hair.

“Gods help me, I do,” he says. “Okay. You're coming to the gardens with me cause I need to ask you a question.”

“A question?”

“Yeah.” Virgil's expression has gone soft, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “A question that I should have asked you years ago. I think you know the one I mean.”

Roman sits up suddenly again, grabbing both of Virgil's hands.

“Love,” he says, in a quiet voice. “Don't be teasing me right now. Please.”

“… I'm not.”

Roman presses a kiss to Virgil's hand, eyes closed in reverence.

“I'm going to say yes,” he breathes. “Just in case you were wondering.”

“That's good to know.”

Virgil cups a hand around Roman's face, and they kiss, as gentle as the sunrise breaking through the clouds outside. They kiss, and the whole world melts away, and there is nothing left but the two of them, in love and together and safe and healing, and for a moment, no darkness remains.

Virgil pulls back with a teasing smile.

“Come on, love,” he says. “You should get dressed.”

Roman scrambles to put his clothes on, while Virgil teases him, and only a few minutes later, they leave for the gardens together, the prince and his knight, his love, his future husband, in the soft light of a new day.

 

There is no such thing as a 'happily ever after,' not really, not even for princes and knights. Life is not complete without sadness, and nothing lasts forever. Time brings all stories to an end. So instead, let's end this tale with the most important part.

_And they lived._

Happily and sadly, angrily and peacefully, together except when they were not. Not ever after, but for a while, which is all anyone can truly hope for.

And it was all the ending that they deserved.

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're at the end! Thanks for accompanying me on this wild journey.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author replies to comments.
> 
> You can also come chat to me any time on my Discord server! <https://discord.gg/SM7JVze>


End file.
